His Princess
by ScriptsOfShadows
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a cold calloused nineteen year old. Embedded in the darkness that surrounds him, eating at his soul. Hermione is his shy fifteen year old ward. Obsession is a dangerous road to embark upon. Limits will be pushed, lines will be crossed. In a swirl of unwanted desires, Hermione may not be innocent as he thought. Twisted webs of secrets and lies, may set them free.


*******Radioactive- Imagine dragons***

Gut wrenching screams pierced through the thick air around him, like werewolves howling in the moon light. Raw cries of terror and desperation echoed off the mountains that nestled the small quiet village. Vengeful flames licked the homes of the muggles that inhabited them, viciously consuming everything in their path. The smell of burning flesh singed the inside of his nostrils; a ghastly odor that would forever be branded into his memory. Haunting him even after his body was laid to rest. The heat emitting from the fire, unbearable. He was sure that the thick blood coursing through his veins had begun to boil, raising to the surface of his skin. Panting heavily, he raised his left arm and used the sleeve of his robe to wipe off the beads of moisture that had gathered across his face. Swallowing a large gulp of black smoke, the young man inhaled the polluted air slowly in a feeble attempt to clear his aching lungs. He gagged at the vile, overwhelming stench as it clawed at his throat. His defiled chest felt as if it would combust as he licked his lips, tasting the particles of charred human tissue on his buds. Nausea washed over the young man, he had to get out. Squinting, he tried to mental find his way out of the inflamed house that trapped in. Panic gripped his body, when he wasn't able to make out anything within the confined illuminated walls. The carbons lingering in the air, mixed with the sweat and dirt running into his eyes obstructed his view. Making it difficult to see more than a foot in front of him and impossible to navigate through the blazing house. Moving in slow precise movements, he inched through the thick dusty clouds that suffocated the room.

The young man dropped to his knees, in a vital attempt to gather his thoughts. He could do this; logic told him the apparition point had to be close. He refused to die in raging inferno; his pride would not allow it. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and stood up in determination. With his arms in front of him, he made his way toward what he believed to be the exit. He felt the knot in his stomach lessen with every step he completed unharmed. Everything was going to be fine. His mind started thinking of everything he was going to do once he made it out alive. _T__ake a bath; eat the exquisite meal that his house elf Chauncey prepared for dinner, and last but not least, fuck one of his amazingly beautiful slags. _A sinister smirk spread cross his lips as he imagined thrusting himself into a feisty blonde with a good set of perky tits. Tonight would be a very promising night in deed. He was abruptly torn from his inner fantasy as his foot hit a solid object, causing him to fall ungracefully into the ashes that settled like snow across the linoleum. Rubbing his head soothingly, _bugger_, he glared in the general direction of the wooden structure that had made him loose his footing.

His dark green eyes imminently turned to worry as he realized that it had not been a fallen beam that had sent his head ricocheting off the soiled ground. It was a human. A very young looking female if his estimations were correct, no more than seventeen years old. A sense of dread washed over the boy. He should leave her there to burn; the whole point of this exercise was to exert their power as followers of the dark lord. He knew this would happen, people would die, and children would die. Cautiously he leaned over the unconscious girls form; steadily he reached for her wrist to check for a pulse. Relief flooded his body as he felt the faint, but steady beating under his dirt covered fingers. His eyes roamed over her small frame, surveying the damage that had been done to the poor girl. The long sleeved tattered dress she wore had been solid in an abstract of black and blood. Lacerations covered her body, from her matted hair to her bare feet; her face swollen and covered in bruises. It was a miracle that she was even still breathing. Unable to determine the extent of internal damage without a healer. Carefully he slid his hands underneath her, pulling the small girl off of the ground. Once she was safely into his arms, he cradled her gently to his chest. The ripped sleeve of her dress shifted with his movements, causing his dark orbs to land on the freshly exposed flesh of her forearm. Mudblood, the foulest of words, so thick with hateful meaning, had been carved maliciously into her pale skin. His stomach twisted as bile rose once again, forming a tightly woven knot in his throat as he stared at the dirty word and the crimson dried blood surrounding it. He knew what he had to do. Not wanting to waste more time than necessary, he made sure the girl was secure and continued his path through the burning maze with newly found vigor. There was only one person that held the kind of power needed to take care of the young woman. The same man who happens to owe him a life debt. Theodore Nott was going to pull every string he had to insure her safety. Noting that he had somehow managed to make it to the apparition point, he turned on the spot, the destination clear in his mind. He was going to see a childhood mate, a very dark and dangerous man by the name of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a prestigious man. At eighteen years old he was an accomplished business man, head of the Malfoy estate, and the dark lord's right hand man. He was famous for his sliver tongue and devilishly handsome looks. As the only heir to one of the purest blood lines alive, his beauty and his fame had landed him number one on witch weekly's most eligible bachelor three years running. Years of quidditch had sculpted his pale six-foot-one frame into perfection. His toned body, along with his sharp aristocratic facial features, stormy grey eyes, and stark white hair made him the epitome of desire. Unfortunately for the females that swooned over him, he was also not emotionally available. He was a notoriously well known playboy, not a witch alive that could hold his attention for more than just a few hours. He lived the kind of live that the majority of the Wizarding world coveted, many of them would even kill for it. The white haired boy was the center of attention everywhere he went. Power and influence radiated off of his freshly tailored robes every time he walked into a room, attracting endless glares of hatred or nervous glances of smoldering lust. He had everything a man could possibly want, and yet the young heir was unsatisfied. He was an impatient, rude, arrogant, heartless egomaniac. He didn't care about anything or anyone besides himself. The blonde was always starting controversy over his loudly voiced his opinions, not that he particularly gave a damn what his peers thought of him. Sometimes he would say outrageous things just to get a rise out of people; he loved listening to their bias or uneducated rebuttals. His 'don't give a fuck' attitude, paired with his very public charades gave him an infamous reputation as a hard man. Only a handful of people knew the real him, not the person they paint him to be in all of the pointless, inaccurate tabloid articles. The few people that he called friends would tell you that he was cunning, devious, loyal, and highly intelligent.

Draco shook his head in disgust as he stepped out of the fireplace. Casting a quick scourgify over his clothing to rid his bespoken robes of unwanted soot, his mind plagued with thoughts of his meeting with his half-arse investors. If they thought that he would sully himself with the likes of muggles and mudbloods, then they were sorely mistaken. He has not and will not ever venture his business into the_ muggle_ world. His very opinionated and colorful views on the matter had lost him two promising investors, not that he really cared. He would rather lose the lot of them, than be subjected to treat such filth as his equal. He was offended, the audacity it took to come to him, with such outrageous proposals, was astounding. HIM?! The very thought of of tarnishing his name for money was blasphemy. The single most important pureblooded supremacist, lower himself for the likes of mudbloods? Where they barmey?

"Popsy," the blond drawled smoothly, his voice covering the thinly contained anger bubbling in his gut. What in the bloody hell?

A loud resounding pop echoed off the entrance hall walls.

"Put this in my office," he ordered impatiently, thrusting a sleek black brief case into the arms of a small elf dressed in a tea cozy.

"I want a girl ready and waiting in ten minutes," he stated tersely, walking up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Mumbling under his breath about incompetent elves, beastly mudbloods, and wayward investors, he made his way to his bedroom. He needed a good shag, something that would alleviate him from thoughts, something he could control.

Reaching his place of solace, he walked directly over to the old oak cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. tension radiating off his body as he poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, downing the glass in one go, he filled another. His muscles relaxing slightly as the smooth liquor soothed his frazzled nerves.

The blonde sighed as he discarded his dress robes, revealing a pair of dark charcoal trousers and black shirt. Abandoning the fine silk that fell gracefully off his broad shoulders and onto the stone floor for his help to gather later. He ran his fingers through his hair, in a feeble attempt to regain control of himself. Polishing off the remaining whiskey, he sat the tumbler on his dresser and headed to his awaiting companion for the night.

He tried to clear his mind as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway, toward the bedroom he reserved for his nighttime activities. There was nothing extraordinary about the room, it was just one of many that had been placed in his manor to house guest. There was only one reason that he had chosen that room in particular for his late night rendezvous. It was the room furthest from his own, in the opposite wing of his home.

The dark lord often gifted him females, all very willing, all half bloods. The majority of death eaters enjoyed the company of mudbloods and the likes, willing or not. Draco Malfoy was not one of those blokes. He would never willingly touch a mudblood, let alone bed one. His lot use to wind him up, gallivanting about how liberating it was to shag the foul beasts. The pour sods would go on for hours about how the very act would put their female slaves in their place. Showing them that the only thing they were good for in this world, was to bring pleasure to their masters. The very notion that he would stick his knob into anything but half blood was preposterous. He understood, as a dominate person, that it was always a pleasing to exert power of those below you. What he didn't understand was their thought process. Why would they feel the need to dominate such filth in their private chambers? There was a time and place for teaching scum a lesson, the bedroom was not one of them. Why shag unwilling mudblood slags, when you could shag willing halfbloods that had been trained for your pleasure? The whole lot, off their trolleys.

The blonde lads experience was the same, every time. Nothing varied, no detail strayed aside from hair color. Not that he really paid attention to the color of their locks. He had six females that had been trained to please were all heavily en-bombed with contraception spells, to insure his clean linage. He didn't know their names or ages. He had never spoken to them outside of the guestroom, even then his words were sparse. They had their own rooms in the servant quarters of the large manor, but they were never seen. He didn't even know what they looked like.

It was a very impersonal tryst. He would walk into the room, the female would be on her elbows and knees facing away from him with her head down. He was sure silencing charms had been placed on them before hand. They never made a sound, they never finished. These sessions were for his pleasure only, the encounters completely one sided. He would find his release and exit the room in the same way he entered.

Reaching the aged wooden door he had grown accustomed to, he pushed it open effortlessly. The large stone room was bare, void of any personal touches. Cold and detached, just like him. Against the wall, in the center of the room, laid an over sized bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. The dark mahogany headboard, hand crafted with intricate designs, stood out against the cream pillows and midnight blue french silk sheets.

In the middle of the bed, as anticipated, was his female companion. Face down, arse up at the edge of the bed. Her dark ruby red hair and pale skin contrasted greatly against the color of his sheets. Closing the door behind him, with a gentle tug, he made his way across the room in slow a languid movements.

He stared down at the girls back, not really seeing her. Popping open the button on his trousers, he slid the zipper down deliberately, before reaching into his undergarments. Grasping his knob, he pulled out his growing erection from the confining material. He stoked his length in his hand as stopped behind her. When he was satisfied with with his hardness, he aligned himself with her entrance. He knew she would be ready, they always were. In one swift movement, buried himself to the hilt. He paused briefly to let he new sensation invade his senses. Grasping her hips tightly, he pulled all the way out, before slamming into again. Thrusting himself deep into her womb violently as he allowed her body to wash away the days frustrations.

A loud pop echoed through the spacious room.

"Fuck," Draco growled in frustration at being interrupted. His body stilled inside of the faceless female, as he glared down at the elf.

"Popsy, is very sorry to disturb master," the small elf apologized, her large eyes staring at the wall.

"What is so bloody important that it could not wait until I was finished?" he hissed between clenched teeth dangerously.

"Master Nott is waiting for Master Malfoy in the drawing room."

"Tell him that I am engaged at the moment," the blonde replied coldly.

The small elf bounced foot to foot, wringing her hands nervously, her master would not be pleased with her.

"Master Nott has dead mudblood, yes he does," Popsy whispered, as if it were the worlds darkest secret.

* * *

**A/N:**_ Okay so I am aware I should NOT be starting a new story right now, but I seriously just cannot get this one out of my head. I'm hoping that by writing it, it will help clear my mind so I can actually focus long enough to update my other stories._

_P.S. I am american, so I try my hardest to be accurate, but cut me some slack._

_Disclaimer: Obviously its not mine.. I live pay check to pay check. I just love to write._

_This story is going to be pretty twisted as far as I can tell. Don't worry it is a love story, I think it will be a little slow paced. Most of the best ones are worth the wait I have realized. _

_I am changing the rating to M later, for sexual themes, violence, and language. Its non compliant. Obviously, seeing as they were never a couple. What I mean when I say this though is that they have never even met, school is irrelevant Draco is nineteen when this story begins and hermione is fifteen. You guys can bitch all you want about it or argue with me about whats in the books and movies, but it will fall on deaf ears. I have both seen all the movies and read all the books, as well as hella fan fics. The best fics Ive read are from some of the most creative writers and they all have dark draco. I love him :) Love reviews!_


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